Casual Encounters
by NeiLegni
Summary: Rachel wants Quinn to rejoin the Glee Club and she'll go to any lengths to convince her to return. Smutty oneshot.


The first day of school Rachel watches Quinn strut down the hallway. At least, she thinks it's Quinn. The girl slinking past her locker is wearing a leather corset with a ripped denim jacket and low slung cargo pants that are just barely being held up with a studded belt. Underneath a shock of hot pink hair, a row of piercings glitter in the light streaming through the windows. A lit cigarette dangles between her fingers before Coach Sylvester passes her and rips it from her grasp. Quinn just shrugs and keeps walking.

Rachel swallows hard and follows in her smoky wake.

She clears her throat before opening her mouth to utter, "Hey Quinn."

Quinn turns on her heel, slowly, languidly, and lowers her sunglasses to meet Rachel's eyes. "What can I do for you, Berry?"

"I just…I wanted to say that you look very nice. Did you have a good summer?"

"It was whatever," she rasps.

"Oh, okay." She stands awkwardly, trying not to stare at the small stud in Quinn's nose, until the bell rings.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at glee practice this afternoon."

"Yeah, right," Quinn laughs. She secures headphones over her ears and continues down the hallway, leaving Rachel confused and disappointed.

* * *

"We have to get Quinn back!" Rachel announces as she enters the choir room. "I saw her in the hallway and she looks like she's in trouble. She says she's not coming back to glee and I for one think we need to make a concentrated effort to bring her back into the fold."

"Rachel, you can't force someone to join the glee club," Mr. Shue sighs. Rachel rolls her eyes at the apparent hypocrisy and raises her hand, but he ignores her and continues. "What she does with her time is her own business."

"I just don't see how we can so easily turn our backs on one of our own in her apparent hour of need! It doesn't seem like any of you realize how vital Quinn is to our group dynamic and the texture of our sound—"

"Look Berry," Santana interrupts, looking up from her nail filing. "We all know Q's, like, completely messed up right now, but what do you think we're all gonna do? Sing the 'Friends' theme song and give her a group hug under the bleachers with the rest of the Skanks? I'm not wasting my time trying something I know isn't going to work when I could be prepping for a fucking sweet solo—"

"Language, Santana," Shue interjects.

"Fine, a freaking sweet solo. Whatever. Do what you want, stubbles, but don't bring the rest of us into it."

Rachel meets twelve sets of eyes around the room and they each confirm her fear.

She's doing this alone.

* * *

"I just want to clarify one more time that the risk of fatal infection is statistically unlikely."

"You're more likely to get picked up by a tornado and thrown into a zombie apocalypse. You're going to be fine."

It's hard to trust someone with wine corks in his ears.

"I've marked where the piercing is going to be on your ear. Just check and make sure you're happy with the placement."

Rachel looks into the mirror and takes a deep, quivering breath. "They're fine."

"All right. We're going to take three deep breaths together and I'll count down. When I hit one, I'm going to pierce you."

"Okay," she croaks.

"_Three_,"

_It's for the club, _she thinks as he clamps her ear with a set of tongs.

"_Two,"_

_It's for Nationals, _she thinks as the needle comes closer.

"_One,"_

_It's for Quinn._

The needle passes through her cartilage and Rachel lets out a blood-curdling scream before everything goes black.

* * *

She spends the night sorting through her wardrobe and pulling out a handful of dresses and skirts she's willing to sacrifice for her cause and lays them next to a bottle of hair dye, a package of fishnet tights, and a pair of combat boots she found at Goodwill. She tears, burns, and scuffs the items and lays them out on her bed before making a round of her bedroom.

"I'm sorry Barbra, but it's for the greater good." She pulls the thumbtacks out of her favorite poster and replaces it with a shot of Courtney Love.

The next morning she pulls a frayed and torn lace dress over her head and ties a black bow around her ribs. She eases herself into a set of fishnets, strategically ripped, and shoves her feet in the boots.

It takes her an hour to tease her newly dyed hair (doing so gingerly around her tender ear), apply her lipstick, smudge the mascara and eyeliner just right, and chip her bright pink nail polish to perfect the look.

She shoves a pack of prop cigarettes and an old walkman in her new thrift store back pack and sneaks out the door before either of her dads can see her newest getup.

She heads for the area under the bleachers, the preferred hangout of McKinley's rebellious girl gang, The Skanks.

Quinn's already there, smoking a cigarette and thumbing through a copy of _A Visit from the Goon Squad._ Rachel clears her throat before tossing back her teased hair and raising one of her fake cigarettes to her lips.

It's not really smoking- it's just a prop- but Rachel pretends to cough to further the illusion. When Quinn fails to look up, she coughs louder and takes another "drag".

"What do you want, Rachel?" Quinn intones without looking up.

"Nothing," she replies in her practiced gravelly monotone. "I just want to have a smoke in peace, thanks."

She feels a little rush after reciting the line she had practiced all the way to school. She has to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Smoking?"

"No, I'm not fucking kidding." The word comes out heavy and unfamiliar. "I can't focus on anything if I don't get a nicotine fix before class."

"Then you might want to try an actual cigarette." Quinn taps one out of her pack and hands it to Rachel along with a lighter.

_Method acting, _she reminds herself. She raises it to her lips and tries to light it. Her hands are slippery and shaking and she can't get the tip to catch.

"Oh my god, come here," she demands, taking the lighter from Rachel's grasp. She flicks it easily and a small flame bursts from the top. Quinn places her hand on the back of Rachel's neck and draws her closer to the lighter. Rachel leans into the flame, into Quinn, and the tip catches. There's suddenly smoke rising from the end of the cigarette and she forces herself to bring the stick closer to her lips. The smoke fills her mouth and coils in her lungs and she instantly starts to cough.

"Rachel, you don't smoke."

"Yes I do," she sputters. She really hopes she doesn't throw up. She takes another, smaller drag.

"Why are you really here, Rach. And why are you dressed like one of The Divinyl's?"

"The who?"

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. "God you're cute."

"What are you talking about?"

"Could you be more obvious, Rachel? This outfit, the smoking, hanging out under the bleachers? This is such a sad, desperate bid for my attention."

"Oh please," Rachel snaps. "This has nothing to do with _you_. I just wanted to find out what's going on with you so I could convince you to come back to glee. We need you, Quinn."

"Yeah, okay." She takes a deep drag on her cigarette and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "It has nothing to do with the way you were drooling over me in the hallway yesterday."

"I was not drooling," she huffs.

"Whatever," Quinn shrugs. "You don't look half bad yourself." She looks Rachel up and down. "You look kind of hot actually."

Rachel's heart races and her stomach clenches as Quinn takes a step closer, tosses her cigarette, and—

And gravel crunches behind them. Rachel whips around and two other Skanks are making their way under the bleachers. She jumps away from Quinn and grabs her things before heading towards the school, her cheeks hot and her hands shaking.

* * *

She can't rinse her mouth enough times to get the taste of cigarette smoke off her tongue. She stands over the sink in the bathroom with a tongue scraper and small bottle of mouthwash (thank goodness for her emergency oral hygiene kit) between first and second period.

The door swings open as Rachel spits the liquid into the sink and Quinn waltzes into the bathroom.

"You ran off so fast," she says, standing in the doorway.

Rachel eyes her from the mirror, but doesn't turn. "Look, this was misguided. I'm sorry for bothering you earlier, but we really need you back in the glee club."

"Yeah, I doubt it. You're just upset that there'll be one less person standing behind you who you can assure yourself you're better than."

"That's not it, Quinn. You're a vital member of our group and it's just not the same without you—"

"Spare me the sob story, Rachel, and get to the point. What's in it for you?"

Rachel shakes her head and finally faces Quinn. "Nothing's in it for me. I just see how lonely you are and how sad you look and I know how much having a group like glee can help."

"So you think you're doing all this for _my _benefit? You have no idea what you're talking about." Quinn crosses her arms over her chest and sneers. "You have no idea what's going on with me, so don't you dare act like you understand."

Rachel stares at the sink, her cheeks hot and blotchy with embarrassment. "I just miss you…miss seeing you I mean."

"Oh yeah?" Quinn takes a step forward. "How much?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, Rachel. This isn't about glee club or you being 'worried' about me."

"And what else do you think it could be?"

"I think," Quinn crooks a finger under Rachel's chin and tilts her head back. "I think that you want me back in that choir room so you can keep staring at me from across the room and so you can continue to fantasize about me when you're clumsy boyfriend tries to get you off. I think you have a big gay crush on me, Rachel, and I think you're doing all of this so maybe I'll do _this." _Quinn lowers her lips and Rachel meets her halfway on instinct alone. Quinn has her lower lip between her teeth and when she sucks just hard enough Rachel lets out a whimper.

"Is this what you wanted, Rachel? Is this why you were under the bleachers this morning?" Quinn asks. She sounds amused, and Rachel blushes furiously.

She can't answer. She's frozen to her spot on the linoleum floor of the girl's bathroom. She's stood in this spot before with Quinn, hoping for this same exchange, but now that it's happening she doesn't know what to say.

Maybe it's the combat boots, or the layers of makeup, but Rachel doesn't feel like herself. She feels braver, more impulsive. At least that's how she'll reason her actions later. Truthfully she's not sure what compels her to take Quinn's hand and drag her into the handicapped stall, but whatever courage is driving her forward seems to impress Quinn who follows behind. Rachel latches the door shut and presses Quinn against the cool tile.

"No. That's not what I wanted." She curves her fingers over the rise of Quinn's breast. "This is what I want." Quinn hisses with pleasure and Rachel can see the goosebumps rising on Quinn's skin.

Their mouths meet again and their tongues meet a flurry of flavors-smoke and mint and lipstick. Rachel's fingers tease Quinn's breasts as Quinn's hitches Rachel's skirt around her waist and drags her nails over quivering hips.

They come up for air in unison. Rachel takes in a gasp and a sigh, but Quinn just takes in a ragged breath and sets her mouth hotly against Rachel's neck. She's sucking, hard, and Rachel knows there will be a bruise there later she'll have to explain, but in this moment it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the feeling of Quinn's mouth on her neck and her own hands sliding up Quinn's stomach to capture her breasts.

"Obviously I'm not the only one who wanted this," Rachel says as her fingers meet the hard rise of Quinn's nipple. Quinn groans and Rachel feels the vibration against her skin.

"You have no fucking idea," she growls, and the low rasp of her admission makes Rachel painfully, uncomfortably wet. She restlessly grinds against Quinn's hips as she considers just how many times over the past three years she's imagined herself this close to Quinn Fabray.

Quinn shifts her weight and suddenly Rachel's back is against the wall and her bare skin makes contact while Quinn's hands are busy with her tights. Their eyes meet, Quinn's with a question, a plea, and Rachel's with the answer. She nods and the fabric slips

"Wait," she says. She kicks off her boots and the tights end up in a puddle on the floor. Her underwear join them a moment later.

"God, Rachel," Quinn sighs. Rachel feels her finger parting her lips and finding the wetness and desire that Quinn Fabray has always stirred. She rocks against the single digit that moves so slowly, so gingerly against her that it's almost more frustrating than nothing at all.

This new Rachel, this Courtney Love lookalike Rachel, does what the old Rachel Barbra Berry would never dare to do. She leans forward and presses her lips to Quinn's ear.

"Fuck me."

She can actually _watch _the shiver work through Quinn. "Are you sure?"

"Did I stutter?" She's shocked herself, but it feels so good to be so _bad._

Quinn hoists her onto the rail and Rachel can gain just enough balance to hold herself in place while Quinn positions herself. Two fingers slip inside easily. Her thumb finds Rachel's clit, swollen and ready, and as Quinn makes contact, the bell for the start second period rings.

She's ditching her first class _ever._ The sense of rebellion only makes her moan louder. She wraps her legs around Quinn's hips and bucks forward, fucking herself on Quinn's long fingers. Each thrust is punctuated with a sigh, a moan, a growl, that echoes off the walls of the bathroom. She hears the door open and the clatter of footsteps coming in, then rushing back out. Her wide eyes meet Quinn's, and they gape at each other open mouthed, but only for a moment. Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as she gets closer and closer to the edge and as Quinn begins to fuck her harder. Neither say a word, but they both gasp and groan and sigh each other's names.

She digs her fingers into Quinn's short hair as she comes, grabbing fistfuls of the pink strands and pulling hard as she cries out Quinn's name, shuddering against her fingers.

* * *

Quinn stands watch as Rachel pulls up her now ruined underwear and tights, which now have legitimate rips.

"So," she starts, still trying to catch her breath. "Will you come back to glee?"

"Are you serious right now? We just had sex in the school bathroom and you're still bugging me about the damn glee club?"

"Well, maybe I do have something to gain from your return."

"And what's that? I told you, I don't want to sway in the back and sing back up anymore."

"No, I know. But the sooner you come back, the sooner I can start giving you private tutoring sessions. You've missed valuable rehearsal time and it's time to catch up." Rachel ties her boots and struts out of the bathroom with a grin on her lips without missing a beat.

And sure enough, Quinn is in the choir room that afternoon sitting next to Rachel as the rest of the group looks on in awe and confusion at their clasped hands and secret smiles.

* * *

[A/N]Thanks for reading! Little know fact, my three favorite words are "I liked this" ;) (or "this was awful"-whichever suits your fancy).


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